


Amuse Me

by Homer42



Category: Sterek (fanon), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, also not proof-read, but im clearing my google docs so, i barely remember writing this, it was for some tumblr fic meme oneshot thing, no one liked it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 03:56:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2798666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Homer42/pseuds/Homer42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>STILES IS A VIRGIN AND NEEDS TO BE SEXED UP. Derek is bleeding, also, and his (surprisingly alive) younger sister is passed out on the bed- but what's really important is that Stiles might be DEAD AT SOME TIME... SOON!</p><p>[setting: Derek's loft, AU 3.02-3.03, after the school showdown]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Amuse Me

The sun is just coming up, but barely able to cast its golden shadow over the building continuation of the complex housing Derek and his new loft. A calm, sunny grey, instead, warms the space and brightens the room just enough to see without need of artificial light. Derek sits on the chair he pulled up next to his bed, where his found-again younger sister, Cora, is sleeping peacefully in the soft cushioning. Derek watches as her chest gently rises and falls- just another sign that she's really there, that she's alive, and that he didn't kill her this time either. The morning's colors soften her face, making her look younger again, like how she was before the fire and the Alphas, before Derek ruined her life. He wants to reach out and hold her hand, to feel her warmth and life again. He closes his eyes and lets out a breath. He concentrates on her heartbeat.. but the third heart in the room jumps and distracts him. He frowns.

"Why are you still here, Stiles?" He asks, trying to keep his voice from raising enough to wake Cora (though he remembers her being a heavysleeper, that might have changed since the fire). Derek opens his eyes to see Stiles standing on the other side of the room, in front of the windows, watching them both and biting his nails as he does. The little bit of sun making its way to the loft is caught in Stiles' long, brown hair, like it's smoking. Stiles' bright eyes pass quickly between Derek and Cora, then he shoves his hands in his pockets, looks around as if someone unwelcomed might be there to hear the secret he just has to say, and shrugs. "Nothing," he says, not looking at Derek.

"What?" Derek says.

"What?" Stiles says louder, blinking like he just woke up.

"Why are you here?" Derek asks again.

"I..." Stiles rubs his neck before continuing. "Have you been, you know-- Are you one of those guys who keeps up with the news? What's been going on lately? Not with the Alphas, it's something... it's something else. Not with them."

Derek sighs and looks back at his sister. "What do you mean, Stiles?"

"There's been--There's been these murders going on- sacrifices. " Stiles starts pacing again, like he was doing earlier when they brought Cora in, like he would do in the summer. Derek watches the teen's feet move across the floor. He likes the rhythm. "Virgin sacrifices. Someone's targeting them- virgins- and killing them for- for.. Well I don't know what for, but it can't be anything good. And there's the way they- the virgins- are dying- being murdered- there's something to what they're doing.. what the killer is doing. It can't be anything 'Werewolf', it's different. There's no claws or teeth, it's human. It's called a Threefold Death." Stiles stops and looks at Derek. "Strangled. Throat slashed. Head bashed in." He looks at Derek expectantly.

"And?"

" 'And?' " He throws his arms out, " 'AND'!?" He huffs a laugh, pulls a hand through his smoking hair, and says, "I'm a virgin, Derek! I could be the next target."

Derek shakes his head and folds his arms. "You said it doesn't have to do with Werewolves. Why would you consider yourself a target, then?"

"Because it just works out that way!" Stiles turns from him and starts pacing again. This time Derek watches the animated hands. "I'm the human in a pack of freakin' Werewolves and anything remotely supernatural with a thirst for blood is gonna wanna get at me! Death by association-- I'm the weakest link!"

Derek wants to tell him that's not true, even if it would be a lie. He doesn't though. Instead he rolls his eyes and stands to meet the excited teenager. "What makes you think it's supernatural?" He asks Stiles when they're shoulder-to-shoulder. "It could just be a human monster."

Stiles gives him an unimpressed look. "Threefold Death. Virgin sacrifices. Hallucinations."

Derek shrugs. Stiles raises an eyebrow. Derek remains silent, staring him down. Stiles groans and throws his arms in the air, exasperated, and starts to pace yet again. Derek tries not to smile as he watches the boy's frustrated face. He's seen this plenty of times over the summer, but it never stops being agonizingly cute. Wait--

"My life is in jeopardy!"

"Stiles."

"Does no one get it!? I can't grow claws or fangs! I don't have any defences like Allison,  or Lydia's Immunity!"

"Stiles."

"And hallucinations? How the hell am I supposed to deflect that?"

"Stiles."

Stiles pivots and frowns at Derek, completely serious when he says: "I need to get sexed up." He points an accusing finger at the window. "That is literally the only thing that is going to save me right now."

Derek breaks.

"It's not funny, Alpha!"  Stiles spits. "If I die you won't--" He stops mid sentence and looks up at the lighting fixtures, confusion falling over his face. Derek doesn't understand him.

Derek senses her distress before Cora moves, and is immediately at his sister's side. He sits back on the chair, holding her shoulder, watches her curl in, clutching at the blanket, her brow wrinkled in an unsettling frown. Something in her dream must be upsetting her, and Derek hopes it's not anything about the Alphas. He gently cups her cheek, hoping the familiar touch will keep her at ease. It seems to work. Cora relaxes, letting go of the thick blanket that's wrapped around her form. Derek stays with her in the silence, brushing her cheek with the backs of his fingers. (Stiles choosing not to talk or just not knowing what to say). It's quiet for about a minute.

"You're still bleeding." Stiles says. It's weak, like he's somewhere in the distance.

Derek looks at himself: the arm reaching to his sister is cut and patterned with drying blood, some spots still pouring; his shirt is torn and stained with the old blood, crusting the thin fabric, again with some open wounds on his torso. He can't imagine how bad his face must look. He swipes his cheek, just to see, and feels a cut, clean and sharp across it. It's still wet. He brings his hand down to see the faint coloring of new blood coating over the stains on his fingers. He looks up at Stiles. "I didn't notice." Stiles doesn't say anything, just stares at him with those brown eyes, like a deer in headlights. "I should probably wash up."

"No.. it's ok." Derek's confused. Stiles swallows, "I'll do it." He backs away a few steps, then turns and exits to (presumably) the bathroom. Derek doesn't really know what Stiles means.

He looks back at Cora, who at some point turned away from him. The sun is a little higher in the sky, enough so that her frame is lit in the sharp gold of morning. He reaches out for her again, more comfortable showing affection now that they're alone. He brushes her hair out of her face, curing it behind her ear, like their mother did when she was sick. It was tough being a human in a Wolf family, especially one as heavily dense as theirs. He always admired Cora for her resilience to it. He wonders why that changed, but doesn’t dwell on it too long.

Stiles comes back with towels and some Band-Aids (which Derek has no idea where those came from) and one of Derek's shirts. Derek holds his hand out for Stiles to give the things to him. Stiles instead gives him a look Derek is not found of at all, and gets down on his knees, grabs Derek's outstretched arm and begins to scrub the old blood away with a wet towel. Derek is taken aback and quickly pulls his arm away. "What are you doing?" He nearly growls it.

Stiles rolls his eyes, a blush appears on his cheeks but he doesn't act like it's there so neither does Derek. "I'm trying to be nice, you big Alpha-werebaby." He takes Derek's arm back. Derek doesn't stop him. Stiles smirks, "I'm dressing your wounds."

"I don't have wounds."

"Yeah, well, you have blood," he gestures it, "so it counts."

"I don't like you doing this."

"Amuse me, Derek Hale."

"I can wash it off myself, Stiles," but he doesn't move to do so.

Stiles eyes at him, irises buring that brilliant, golden brown and sparkling with amusement. He's smiling at him as he begins to scrub Derek's arm again, then looks back down to concentrate on the washing. Derek admirers the boy's long eyelashes, how they fall softly on top of his pink cheeks. The morning sun lights his face and all his fine features, and shadows darken the concentration on his brow.. Stiles grew a lot since the last year: as a person, mostly, but also as a body. He's been fitting into his skin, his arms not as lanky and wild as they had been, but now strong and secured,  and his shoulders are well-rounded and firm, supporting him. His new hair suited him more than the buzzcut, it fit his frame, his cheeks and jaw sharpened, and made him all the more easy to look at. Maybe a little too easy, sometimes.

Stiles looks up at Derek with an eyebrow arched, letting him know he'd been staring a little too long. Derek looks away, and Stiles continues his work, both of them acting like it didn't happen.

"Why are you doing this, Stiles," it's not so much a question he asks as it is a demand for answer. Stiles stops and looks up at him, but Derek can't see his expression since he isn't looking at him but the space between their bodies, with Stiles nearly nested right between his legs. He knows the boy's emotions, though: a mix of frustration and regretfulness. Stiles sighs.

"I just... I want to help out, you know?" Derek knows. "And before, I.. I almost said that if I died," Derek looks at him, but he's looking at Cora, "then you wouldn't have anyone else." He smells like sadness as he says this. "Which I know isn't true at all. You have Isaac, and now Boyd and Cora again. I don't have to worry about you." Stiles glances at Derek quickly before working again on his bloodied arm.

"You never had to worry about me." Derek insists.

Stiles glares at him. "See? That isn't true, I have to worry about everyone!" He huffs, "especially you of all Wolves. Who was the one who came to your rescue countless times last year-- in the midst of your little episode over the summer? ME. I'm the one saving all your Werewolf-asses every freakin' second it seems like! This system would collapse without me, you realize." He shakes his head and scrubs. “And of course I just have to die because of it.”

“You’re not going to die because of us.” Derek assures him.

“Not that, my virginity.” Stiles shakes his head, “No, you’re right: it’d also be because of you. I almost forgot the ‘death by association’. Your fault, Alpha!” Derek winces at that, and Stiles looks up at him, surprised. His face softens. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.” Derek doesn’t say anything, just looks at Cora again.

“Are you ok?” Stiles asks tentatively, after a while.

Derek looks at him. “Fine.”

“You’re not fine.” Stiles frowns. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“No worse than you.”

“Hey,” his frown deepens, “I’m just trying to help.” Derek knows.

“Help with what? There’s nothing to help with, Stiles.”

“Liar.”

Derek glares at him, but Stiles doesn’t back down. Stiles isn’t afraid of him anymore, not like he once was- and while one part of Derek counts that as a victory, a bigger part knows the failings of it. Stiles angrily sticks a Mickey Mouse patterned Band-Aid on Derek’s biceps and moves on to wash the other arm, but never breaks eye-contact. “I know when there’s something up with you, Hale.” His eyes narrow. “When there’s something upsetting you.” Derek sometimes hates how well Stiles is at reading things.

“I told you, Stiles: there’s nothing wrong.” He actually does growl this time.

“Why can’t you just talk to me!? I’m your friend, Derek!”

“There’s nothing you can fix.”

“Because you never let me try!”

Derek stuffs his face in his hands. “You should just go.”

“... What?”

“I can ‘dress’ my own ‘wounds’. ” He sighs, “just go, Stiles.”

It’s silent but Derek knows Stiles hasn’t left: he still hears the tremor of his heartbeat, still can smell the stench of whatever-the-hell bodyspray the teen thinks might be best to coat himself in, he can still feel his body settling between his legs- moving closer to him, now, and sure arms wrap around Derek and pull him in tight to the thin body in front of him. Derek gives in to the embrace, and burrows his head in Stiles’ shoulder and neck, catching whatever faintness of the boy’s natural smell he can get under the thickness of the bodyspray. He likes Stiles’ scent. It’s calming to him, it reminds him of the forest.

“I’m not going to leave you, man.” Stiles says, head resting on Derek’s shoulder. “You don’t have to talk about it, I get it,” Derek’s sure he doesn’t, “but I’ll still be here for you. I’m never gonna leave.”

Derek doesn’t catch himself before he says it, so faint, though, he was sure the human wouldn’t hear his request: “Promise?”

Stiles pulls him in tighter. “I promise,” he whispers back.


End file.
